


Withdrawal

by ViolentVioletEye



Series: The Rise and Fall of Quinn Firethief [4]
Category: Wizard101
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fire, Gen, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-23 08:50:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23008882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolentVioletEye/pseuds/ViolentVioletEye
Summary: Quinn is out of money. And out of alcohol. He's hit rock bottom and pulled out a pickaxe to go further.
Series: The Rise and Fall of Quinn Firethief [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650793
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Withdrawal

_ Mother, _

_ I’m sorry I never responded to your letters. I just never found the time. I’ve been very busy lately, as I’ve recently taken on more schoolwork. I’ve signed up to more ice school spells, and I’ve always decided to start taking Myth. I thought it would be a good idea to broaden my reach. I’m also being mentored by Professor Cyrus. I’m sure that’s a bit of a surprise, but he’s teaching me how to duel. I’m not fit for solo questing, so that's why he’s teaching me. But I can’t go questing until he’s deemed me able, and so I haven’t been able to get any money because of it. I’m running out of coins. Do you think you could send me _

Quinn crumbled the paper up and burnt it up in his hand. It was a Saturday night. He had just gotten home from a practice with Professor Cyrus. His bones ached, and he was thirsty. So,  _ so  _ thirsty. But it wasn’t the kind of thirst that could be quenched by water. He needed Fireball. Hell, any alcohol would be enough right now! He was on the last bit of his ramen, and he was going to be out of pet feed soon. He needed to feed his pets! He had four hungry pets to feed!

_ Father, _

_ I’m sorry I haven’t responded to your letters. I’ve been very busy lately. I’ve taken on more classwork so I can keep my mind busy. If I don’t, I’m afraid I get too in my head. I think of _

He crumbled it up and burnt it to crisp. He needed to do  _ something.  _ He had thought about a job, but there weren't any good ones around here. He could take a weekend job at the tavern, but that would give him next to nothing. Not to mention, that would interfere with his Saturday practices with Professor Cyrus! The only day off he had was  _ Sunday!  _ Next to  _ no one  _ worked on Sundays! He had tried, he had looked around! Any jobs weren’t going to be enough to feed him, his pets, or keep his habit going! But what else had he expected?! Most people worked more than  _ one day!  _ But he couldn’t drop any of his classes! No, no, he wasn’t a quitter.

_ Father, _

_ I’m sorry I haven’t been able to respond to your letters. I’ve been very busy lately. So busy I haven’t been able to find time to quest. Do you think you could send me some money? Five hundred coins would even be enough, just to _

He burnt it off before he had even lifted it off the desk. He was glad he was given a fireproof one, for being a Fire Sorcerer. His breath was coming fast and he was sweating. He hadn’t had any alcohol since the 4th, nearly a week ago. All this week he had been having difficulty with just  _ living,  _ and it was only getting worse. His hands started trembling after day five, and it had been difficult to hold a quill since. He had no difficulty falling asleep, but he couldn’t  _ stay  _ asleep. He would wake up, thirty minutes later, with his heart pounding and in a cold sweat. Oh, yeah, he was sweating! He couldn’t even explain how much he hated  _ that shit!  _ As a Fire Wizard, he  _ never  _ sweated! He worked in temperatures that ran close to the hundreds every time he quested, and nearly every single day in classes! Those scorch marks on the ceiling weren’t just decorations! Valerian was a crazy motherfucker!

_ Dear mother, _

_ I know I’m a horrible son. I know I haven’t responded to your letters. But I’m desperate and broke, I need money, I need _

He couldn’t just tell Professor Cyrus, either. He knew what he would say. They had made a deal and Quinn needed to stick to it. No questing unless he was with a group. But he couldn’t go questing. Not like this! It was getting worse! God, just last night, he swore he had heard Sarai when he woke up!

_ Dear father, _

The shaking was getting worse. There was a coat of sweat on him. He couldn’t breathe, not without feeling like his lungs were going to collapse. He sobbed and shook his desk. One of his ink bottles tipped over and shattered as it hit the cobblestone ground of his study. Amber yelped before she skittered out of the room, frightened.

_ Dear mother, _

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t. He couldn’t he couldn’t he couldn’t oh god ohgodohgodohgodhecouldn’thecouldn’thewasgoingtoexplodehewasgoingtojustexpl

_ My dearest brother, _

_ Don’t you have three hundred dollars saved that piggy bank of yours? _

He screamed and crumbled up all of the pieces of paper, all of the hurried, messy letters he had tried to write but could never complete, much less send off. His hands burst into flames and the parchment burned away in his grip. He stumbled away from his desk and covered his hands—put out by then—as he sobbed. He screamed and he cried, and it echoed in the lonely walls of his castle. His pets huddled together, shaking as they listened to their human’s wails echo in their home. The tower suddenly felt very cold. Quinn truly believed that he had never wanted to die so badly at that very moment, as he felt his skin crawling and his dry mouth and throat begging for just one drop, just a single drop would be enough. He wished he hadn’t thrown out some of his bottles, as he could have maybe gotten a few drops from the bottles. He wondered if he could just open a tab at the tavern. He was always 100,000 coins in debt with his own fucking Professor! What was a couple hundred more?! If he was going to ruin his life, why not go  _ ALL THE WAY?! _

He tripped. He fell onto something cold and hard, but it didn’t feel like the floor. Before he could see what it was, or even stand, he suddenly felt the sensation of being teleported. He was righted rather roughly onto his feet, and when he reappeared, he was thrust forward by the force. He stumbled and tried to stay on his feet, but he didn’t stand a chance. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath, before he felt a great rush of heat above him and he looked up. He paused.

He was in the attic. Somehow, in his haze of tears, he had stumbled across the entire basement, to the teleporter near the stairs. He was honestly lucky he hadn’t tripped and hit his head on the stairs. It would’ve just been his luck. He hadn’t been up in the attic, though. He had nothing to store up there, and its existence hadn’t particularly interested him. The agent had mentioned that the core of the tower was in there, that it was what kept the fires going and it didn’t look like it would ever stop. Many families had lived in the tower before him, and it had always kept them cozy and protected. But he had never  _ seen  _ the core. Not until now. It was decently sized, much like a large beach ball his father always inflated for his many pets. He said they loved to knock it around, and it taught them to be careful with their claws and spiky tails, so it was safer to have children around them. A win for both parties, he always said. Quinn squeezed his eyes shut and he pushed his father from his mind. He didn’t want to think of him. Not right now. Not when he was like this.

But, surprisingly, his mind was… quiet. His body was trembling, his hands were still shaking, but his mind was quiet. He wasn’t fighting to have one second of peace. His breath shook whenever he drew in the deepest breaths possible, but his lungs felt clear. His throat wasn’t constricting in on itself. His mouth and throat still felt so dry, but he had gotten used to that during the week. Now that he wasn’t having such a big meltdown, it didn’t feel like that bad of a problem. He opened his eyes and stared back up at the core. It hurt to stare at it for too long, like he was looking right at the sun. So he turned his head away, shut his eyes, and laid down on his side. He was tired. No, he was  _ exhausted. _ He was so,  _ so  _ exhausted. He didn’t have anything to do tomorrow and for that he was thankful, but he knew a whole day of rest wouldn’t get rid of the ache in his bones. He knew he should go to his bed, but he was afraid to leave the room, quite frankly. He wasn’t sure if it was the shock of teleporting that had saved him, or if maybe it was the orange and red firey mass that was spinning above him. The attic would be sweltering to anyone, but he had been born and raised in Dragonspyre, and had come from a long line of powerful and dangerous Fire Wizards. The flames were a second home to him, the heat was like a warm blanket that wrapped around him and whispered,  _ “You’ll be okay.” _

He laid there, curled up on the wooden floor, right underneath his own personal sun. As he laid there, his breaths slowly calmed and became deep and even. The trembling in his body died away, and his hands were tucked safely against his chest. He fell fast asleep, warmed by the element he had known since he was young. He knew peace for one night, for the first time in a long while.


End file.
